


Blood Baptism

by Croik



Category: Tenkuu no Escaflowne | The Vision of Escaflowne
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon, repost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-11-30
Updated: 2000-11-30
Packaged: 2018-09-17 16:34:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9333572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Croik/pseuds/Croik
Summary: The tale of how Zaibach's infamous Dragonslayer Knights earned their name.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> While digging around in an old folder, I found this fic I wrote back in my Escaflowne fandom days. I only ever posted it on two personal website that are long gone, so I figured, why not preserve it here? I only made a few small edits so this is 90% Croik of a decade and a half ago. Ah, nostalgia!

Shesta Allushe learned early on in life that independence was more important than anything else. He gained knowledge through trial and error: if you were late for dinner, you weren’t fed; if you were caught in the master’s workrooms, you were thrown out; if you showed yourself when company was around, again, you weren’t fed. This was not a house meant for children, and it was his privilege to be there—he had no right to question the master’s rules. He didn’t even have the right to ask what the rules were. But he soon discovered that as long as he stayed hidden until mealtime, he would be fed. As long as he stayed invisible, as long as he didn’t go where he was not wanted, the master would continue to ignore him steadily, and no harm would come to him.

The master of the grand house was, in fact, Shesta’s uncle, Duke Westner. When Shesta’s parents died, there was nowhere else for him to go. He had been abandoned in a mansion of tall marble corridors and seamless silk drapes. The master never once spoken a word to him, or of him, and only glanced in his direction once that Shesta remembered. The servants were similarly not permitted to talk to him—they merely shoveled food onto his plate, or dragged him out of places he was not meant to be. Everything in the house resented him, and he felt that hatred, wore it like a skin. Sometimes he felt that it was suffocating him, and he tossed in the large bed, crying softly into the thick pillows.

His life continued this way until he was eight years old, when the Sorcerers came.

***

Folken drew the thick black cloak more tightly around him. The wind was only mild that evening, but it tugged at the fabric like the pull of curious, searching eyes. It had been a long time since he’d been outside the sorcerer’s sanctum, and in the open he felt bare and self-conscious despite the stifling cloaks. He was dimly aware of his metal appendage tightening in anxiety; it made a soft, squealing noise.

Several steps ahead of him, another cloaked figure glanced over his shoulder. “Relax, boy,” he grunted, though his pale gray eyes were crinkled with amusement.

“Yes, sir.” Folken inhaled deeply and held it, attempting to clear his mind as he’d been taught. Slowly, he released his breath, and then hurried to catch up to his master. They were among only a few travelers on the sun-bathed street, on their way to Westner Manor. The air tasted stale. Folken was only vaguely informed of their business to be conducted: they were visiting the Duke in order to meet his young nephew. For what purpose, he didn’t yet know. But he assumed that its importance was great, as his company, Nolld, left the Sorcerers’ Sanctum even less frequently than he did himself. He was, after all, the Grand Steward.

They reached the manor and were shown inside with great courtesy. Folken was relieved that they were so well accepted, as he’d anticipated some uneasiness on the part of their hosts due to the fact that they were Sorcerers. But the servants showed no wariness or even surprise at their unannounced visit. He wondered if he perhaps had misjudged his own status in this twisted city.

The Duke received them in his drawing room; Folken disliked the man immediately. There was an air of arrogance and indifference about him, despite how pleasantly he greeted his guests. His dark eyes were sharp and cold. “Now, how may I help you, gentlemen?”

Nolld raised his head slightly. “In truth, it’s not you whom we have business with,” he said, the deep tones of his voice dwarfing Duke Westner’s airy muttering. “We’ve come to see your nephew.”

The Duke frowned in barely concealed displeasure. “My…nephew, Sir Nolld?”

“Yes. The boy, Shesta Allushe.” He explained no further, waiting for his request to be carried out.

The frown deepened. All the same the Duke called for a servant, and whispered in her ear, “Bring that boy here.” The young woman blinked in confusion but was quick in her task. She returned shortly with the boy in tow.

Folken was surprised when the boy entered, as he was far younger than expected—no more than nine years old, surely. He was thin and somewhat gangly, with limp blond hair that partially covered his ears, and showed no sign of being properly cut in some time. His wide blue eyes were surprisingly dull for someone that young. Folken felt a faint pang in his chest: his own youthful brother, Van, would be about this age by now.

“Ah, young Allushe,” Nolld murmured, smiling as if he were greeting an old friend. “Come here.”

Shesta stared at him, blinking slowly, as if he didn’t understand. Even when the Sorcerer repeated his instruction with a gesture, the boy hesitated. He kept glancing at Duke Westner, who did not return that attention.

 _He’s not supposed to speak,_ Folken realized, then frowned at himself for having discovered the reason. A memory surfaced, one long since repressed: sitting beside his father’s throne, his young brother in his lap. Van was fidgeting, suppressing a yawn as the endless parade of visitors passed through the royal hall. Both brothers had been instructed not to speak during the assembly. But at some point one of the delegates addressed them. Folken remembered Van’s shifting movements and questioning stare, confused as to whom he should comply with.

Folken smiled ruefully. “It’s all right, Shesta,” he said softly. “I’m sure Duke Westner won’t mind if you speak to us.”

Shesta glanced at his uncle, who was still ignoring the exchange, then looked back to Folken. “Yes, sir,” he said timidly.

Nolld appraised his apprentice with a pleased eye. “Come here, Shesta,” he told the boy once more.

At last Shesta did come forward, quickly and obediently. Nolld lifted his hand out of his cloak, gently touching his palm to the boy’s forehead. His brow knit in concentration. After a moment he let go and motioned for Folken to do has he had. “Tell me what you see.”

Folken gulped, strangely unnerved by his master’s quiet, serious tone. Though he’d spent nearly two years studying the Destiny Arts from him and others, he had never experienced a successful reading. Was this the reason Nolld had brought him here? To read the fate of such a young boy? Certainly whatever destiny had in store for this boy, it would not take effect for many years. From what he’d been taught, to gain an accurate reading would be nearly impossible.

But Nolld was waiting patiently—he had no choice. Folken stepped forward and placed his hand on the boy’s forehead. He felt nothing, even when he concentrated with all his power. He was too distracted by the image of his brother that had come to him earlier. After a moment he slipped his hand back into his cloak. “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t see anything.”

Nolld hmphed in a way that seemed to say “thought so.” Folken was expecting him to signal their departure, when abruptly he turned to the Duke and said, “We’re taking the boy.”

Duke Westner didn’t bat an eye. “Good riddance,” was all he muttered.

Folken stared at the man in poorly concealed shock. Though from the moment he’d laid eyes on the man he knew he lacked any concern for his young nephew, to abandon him instantly to total strangers….

He looked to the boy. Shesta did not look hurt or surprised—not even pleased. Folken thought perhaps he didn’t understand, but corrected this assumption when he saw the boy’s eyes. Their blue shade was sharp and attentive; he simply did not care that his owners had switched. He watched Folken expectantly.

Nolld nodded his appreciation to the Duke, and then stood. “Shesta Allushe, you’ll be coming with us. You won’t return here for a very long time, if ever. You don’t need your clothing, books, or any toys you might have; we will provide everything you need. Do you have anything else that you would like to bring?”

“No, sir,” the boy answered without even a thought. Folken’s frown deepened.

“Good. Come with us.” Without waiting a moment longer he turned and began to leave, and Shesta fell instantly into step behind him. Folken quickly followed, without giving the Duke another glance. He stared fixedly at his master’s turned back. _What was it?_ he thought, again feeling the grind of his metal joints. _What did he see in that young boy?_

***

Shesta wiped his brow with the back of his hand. It was a meaningless act—his palms were already soaked with sweat. His entire body was covered in its thick stench. His hair stuck to his scalp just as his trousers clung like honey to his legs. All other clothing, including his shoes, had been shed during the battle. The concrete floor was harsh against the soles of his bare, blistered feet. His lugs burned for oxygen, as his muscles were in short supply, and he gasped desperately for air.

Across from him, the captain sipped patiently from a tall glass of clear water. He was two heads taller than his young opponent and perhaps twice his weight—three times his age. Only a thin layer of sweat gleamed on his tanned, leather skin. Shesta didn’t know how long he’d stood here, sword quaking in his grip, facing the man. Hours, most likely. He was far outclassed and without any chance for victory, but he refused to submit. He hadn’t finished his task yet.

“Aren’t you going to attack?”

Shesta swallowed, though his mouth had long since gone dry. “No, sir.”

“Why not?” The captain, whom he had never seen before this meeting and would never see again, raised the glass to his lips once more. He even closed his eyes as he savored the cool liquid. Once he was finished he looked back to his pupil, and found him not an inch moved. “I was giving you an opening.”

“I couldn’t…have taken it…sir,” Shesta huffed, shifting his grip on his weapon. “Not yet…ready.”

The captain laughed, placing the glass aside. “You’ve got a clear head, given your situation,” he remarked, sounding pleased. “But I could end you any time I want. I think you have to assume that every chance the enemy gives you will be the last, and take it.”

“But it wasn’t…a big enough chance. I knew…I couldn’t beat you. It’s only a chance…if I know I can win.”

The captain stared at him, genuinely surprised by his response. “I suppose you’re right, boy. Quite a gambler you are. I’ve seen enough.”

Shesta readied his sword in preparation of the coming attack, even knowing that he was in no condition to defend. As he’d expected, the captain swept through his counters effortlessly. He didn’t yield, though, even when the blow to the back of his neck pulled darkness over his eyes.

***

“Hey, the kid’s waking up.”

“Let me see.”

“Stop pushing!”

“Shut up—he’s trying to rest.”

Shesta’s eyes fluttered open, exposing his eyes to harsh white light. He squinted against the brilliance. “Who’s there?” he called weakly, hoping that the voices would stop or at least lower in volume. His head was pounding.

“It’s Dallet,” a voice on his left said, as someone else hushed the other boys silent. “Are you okay? You look like shit, man.”

Shesta rubbed his eyes, then opened them fully. Half a dozen trainees were crowded around his bunk, watching him with wide, fascinated eyes. He frowned at their enthusiasm. “What’s going on?”

“You made it!” an exceptionally skinny youngster exploded beside him. “Look—look at your name!” He held up the nameplate that usually hung from his bed. There was a red line beneath the lettering. “You made it!”

Shesta sighed, relaxing far more easily. The excited murmur that spread through the boys didn’t bother him. _I made it. I’m going._ His lips turned in a smile—a faint, satisfied smile. He glanced up at Dallet, the only really familiar face among them. “Who else?”

“Just you and the Muro brothers,” he replied, grinning in congratulations. “My test isn’t for a while yet. How was it?”

“Not as bad as I thought,” Shesta admitted, though his memory was somewhat blurred. He was too tired to think properly at the moment. But the boys pressed in around him, demanding to know what had transpired within the sealed room. As he’d been sworn to silence before the test, he couldn’t say much. He was starting to feel dizzy from their constant inquiries, when at last a distraction saved him: the door at the end of the barracks opened. Everyone looked up, as if it was a superior officer they’d be forced to attention. Shesta craned his neck to get a better look.

What stepped inside, however, was not a soldier, but a young man similar to themselves—tall, about 14, with unkempt, sandy blond hair. His blue eyes were shining with defiance as he glared at the man who’d brought him: a Sorcerer.

Shesta sat up so fast that his head spun; he braced himself against Dallet’s arm to stay steady. He recognized that Sorcerer. Though it was only an encounter shared once, years ago, he remembered the sharp eyes. He wanted to speak but his voice failed him.

The Sorcerer spoke a few short words to the youth at his side, then left suddenly. Shesta’s lips moved. He didn’t even know the man’s name, who he was or his position, but he had wanted to thank him. He did so silently, inside himself, expressing his gratitude for having been brought to this place.

“Hey.” Dallet eyed him with curiosity. “Do you know that guy?”

“No, not really,” he replied. He lay back down on his back, smiling almost secretively. “He…took care of me once.”

The other trainee didn’t understand quite, but he didn’t question. He glanced at the new boy. “I wonder where he came from?”

Shesta closed his eyes. “You can ask him, okay? I’m still exhausted.”

“Yeah, sure. Get some sleep--you’ll leave tomorrow.”

“You’ll be with me.” He smiled, knowing that the other boys were watching. “We’ll all go together.”

***

Twenty-four hours later Shesta was sitting in a small, cramped chair at a table that was too big for him, dressed in full uniform and eating the chef’s rendition of beef stew. Whether or not any form of meat was present in the dinner concoction had been called into question all along the banquet tables. Shesta didn’t care. He was still mildly recuperating from his testing the day before, and all the procedures and questions hours earlier. Even the foulest meal-substitute was welcomed nourishment for his every-growing body.

All around him the other boys shoveled the stew into their mouths in a similar, cringing fashion. They chatted excitedly around mouthfuls. The banquet that evening was in reality a graduation ceremony—the testing the day before a type of placement exam. Most of the 100 boys would stay for another year of drills, workouts, and tests. A few, like Shesta, would be admitted into the army under General Adelphos as active troops. After four years, Shesta was moving on. It wasn’t that he wanted to be a soldier, or that he disliked the Junior Training Facility he’d been living in. He was simply looking; for what, he had no idea. New faces, maybe. New people to see, to watch. New voices to listen to.

Shesta looked down the table, smiling at the enthusiasm on the faces of the other boys. They were talking and laughing; it was odd, watching them act their age. Or, he assumed that was how they should be acting. Simply, like this. He was glad to see them all at ease.

A boy seated himself across from him at the table. Shesta gazed at him in mild surprise, as he hadn’t known the space to be unoccupied previously. _It’s that the boy the Sorcerer brought in yesterday_ , he realized. The blond teen was gulping down the stew as quickly as his hand could raise the spoon to his mouth. Despite this frantic pace Shesta noticed that not a drop marred his face or the table; he was taking care not for the sake of his appearance, but so that none would be wasted.

Shesta couldn’t help but stare. He’d never seen anyone enjoy a cafeteria meal with such voracity. The boy couldn’t have been part of the squadron; though Shesta admitted he didn’t know many of the others, somehow he seemed different. The boy didn’t look up as he ate, as if oblivious to the commotion surrounding them.

“Attention.” The stiff voice halted all conversation along the tables, as the soldiers quickly turned their focus toward the hall’s end. All except for the blond across from Shesta. He continued to eat—loudly, as he was now the only one in the hall moving. Without thinking Shesta reached out and took the boy’s wrist to halt him. The boy glared at him in bewilderment, but quickly sobered when he finally noticed the fallen silence. He also turned his gaze.

Standing on a small pedestal at the mess hall’s furthest edge was a tall, burly man dressed in full armor, sporting a dark mustache and beard. Shesta recognized him instantly as General Adelphos, commander of one fourth of the Emperor’s army. It was into this man’s troops that he was transferring.

“Congratulations on another year,” the general declared, his voice filling the immense room. “I’ve been told that you all fought well during the testing. I look forward to commanding those of you that passed.” He paused, looking as if he were about to eat something distasteful. “I’d like to introduce to you Sir Nolld. He and his people will be assigning you to a transport.”

From a shadowed corner stepped a man bound in black cloaks—a Sorcerer, with silvery gray hair and pale, gleaming eyes. Shesta recognized him, too. _What’s going on?_ he wondered as a dull murmur spread along the table. _What is a Sorcerer doing here? They usually don’t have anything to do with the army._

“Each of you will gather your personal things and meet at the transports,” the general continued. “You will receive a card that will tell you which to take. If you attempt to switch cards, you will be severely punished,” he added seriously. “Now get yourselves cleaned up.”

The boys wiped their faces on sleeves and napkins and stood from the table. Except for the new blond kid: he continued to eat until every last drop of stew had been devoured. He returned Shesta’s bewildered stare with one of his own. “What?”

“Oh, uh, nothing,” Shesta stuttered out. He ducked his head and joined the crowd that was surging for the door.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The barracks were buzzing with excitement as everyone hurried to collect their things. As a herd the young soldiers made their way down to the transport station. General Adelphos was nowhere to be seen, but the Sorcerer Nolld was standing beside the door of a waiting transport. Again Shesta’s curiosity wondered at the unusual presence. There were several other Sorcerers milling about, their hands tucked inside their black cloaks, looking stern and impassive. He glanced about for the familiar pale-haired man he’d seen the day before; there was no sign of him.

The Sorcerers stepped forward, clasping the hands of the nearest soldiers. Their eyes narrowed slightly, and then they handed out a ticket to the boy. Shesta noticed immediately that those Sorcerers who held on a bit longer gave out the blue, as opposed to the red. The blue transport was where Nolld stood.

Shesta watched the whole procedure with a strange energy buzzing in him. There seemed to be no similarities between those soldiers chosen to receive the blue card—no outward similarities, in any case. Shesta was so preoccupied with finding the pattern that he was startled when a hand closed around his. The flesh was cold and clammy. Only a moment passed; the Sorcerer’s face twisted in brief disconcertment, and then a card was shoved into his palm. By the time he looked at it, the cloaked man had already moved on. The card was blue.

Shesta frowned thoughtfully—for some reason he felt relieved, though he wasn’t quite sure why. With a shrug he shouldered his bag and boarded the transport. Nolld gave him an appraising look as he passed.

Only a few boys were inside already: Dallet, the Muro brothers, and a black haired boy Shesta didn’t know the name of. _There are a lot more people in the red transport,_ he noted. _How are they splitting us up?_ Shesta packed his bag in the overhead compartment and took a seat beside the window. Several rows behind, Dallet was talking excitedly to the younger of the brothers. "I’ve never seen a Sorcerer before. They’re kinda creepy, ya know? Those cloaks…."

Shesta was distracted momentarily when another boy entered: again, the blonde from dinner. He wasn’t carrying any bags. With a sigh he dropped into the seat across the isle from Shesta, shifting to find a comfortable position. He looked a bit older than Shesta himself—maybe fourteen or fifteen—with a wiry frame, and scarred hands. _He’s not a soldier, like us. Where did he get scars from?_

The boy lifted his head, at last noticing Shesta’s prolonged stare. "What is it?" he asked, sounding a bit suspicious.

"Nothing," Shesta replied quickly. "I was just…." He broke off, at a loss for words. He wasn’t used to talking to people—especially strangers—and he didn’t want to say something offensive.

The boy was looking him over with careful scrutiny. "You look pretty young to be a soldier," he commented.

"I’m twelve." He glanced away. "And I’m not a soldier, yet. Just a trainee."

"Looks like we all are." The boy moved to sit beside him, which startled Shesta even more than having been spoken to. "My name’s Gatti."

"Shesta Allushe," he murmured. "Very nice to meet you." He paused. "You weren’t from the squad, were you?"

Gatti "hmphed" and rolled his eyes upward. "Hardly. Just a common street rat, I guess. The Sorcerers hauled me in."

Shesta hummed thoughtfully. "You must be pretty strong, to have passed the test without any training."

"Well, I guess."

Outside, the crowd thinned, and then dispersed. Only one more of the trainees joined the blue transport: the ever stone-faced Vicha Delekku, one of the eldest. "Something’s not right," Shesta mused as the Sorcerers began to board. "How come there are so few of us here?"

Gatti shrugged. "I don’t know how military procedure works."

The Sorcerers took their seats, and immediately afterward the transport began to move. _Something’s not right,_ Shesta thought continuously, watching as the scenery flashed past. _Why bother splitting us up? Why so unevenly?_ _Why us?_ He glanced about, wondering if the seven occupants had anything in common. But he didn’t know any of them well enough to even begin to guess.

"Don’t worry so much," said Gatti, noting the look on his face. "Whatever their reason, if it’s important they’ll tell us, right?" He leaned his chair back the few degrees it was capable. "It doesn’t matter to me where we go." He closed his eyes, as if attempting to sleep.

Shesta frowned. _He’s right. Does it really matter where we go?_ He settled himself as well. _I might as well enjoy the rest. It’ll be a while before we get another chance._

The transport signaled their departure, slowly churning to life as they moved away from the station. Outside, the sun was just beginning to set: horizontal rays of honey-light spilled though the compartment windows. Shesta watched the sun's slow progress toward twilight. He should have felt hope and relief—he was moving on, like he'd always wanted. So many stories of the comradeship of soldiers had been absorbed into his brain, and now he would see for himself. He would find others like him, others he could talk to. Perhaps even friends.

He glanced at the boy beside him. _Maybe…now's a good time to start? But, maybe he doesn't really want to talk now. I don’t want to annoy him_. "Um…."

Gatti opened his eyes curiously. "Yeah?"

"Are you excited?"

"About what? Joining the army?" He raised his eyebrows doubtfully. "We'll be fighting, you know. We might go to war."

"Oh, yeah." Shesta hesitated. "But…but it'll be exciting, won't it? Meeting new people?"

The elder boy regarded him carefully. "You don't have many friends, do you?"

"Well…I…."

"It's okay. Me neither." Gatti smiled with a hint of mischief. "Not much time for that when you're running from soldiers."

Shesta giggled at the image. "I guess not."

"So, where are you from?"

 _Has anyone ever asked me that?_ Again Shesta was stunned. _Everyone knows from my name where I came from. They've never bothered to ask me directly._ "Well…I'm from the capitol," he replied with a strange feeling of pride welling inside him. "My parents were fighters in the war."

Gatti hummed. "So, you're living in their footsteps? Noble."

"Maybe." He wondered briefly if it was so noble, following his parent's fate. _But…if they died without regrets…isn't that a good fate? A good life? If I could live that way, without regrets_ ….

"What about you?" he found himself asking, partly to distract him from those thoughts.

"I'm from Callist. Just your ordinary orphan, trying to survive." Gatti lifted his head slightly. "I've gotten into some trouble before, so when the Sorcerers came up to me, I thought I was a goner. But he just put his hand on my head and said, 'come with me.'" He frowned and turned toward Shesta once more. "What do you know about them? I mean, why would they want me?"

"I…really don't know."

***

The Transport sped on, into the night. An hour later Shesta had fallen asleep, but was nudged awake by his companion. "We're stopping," Gatti whispered, "but they're telling us not to get up."

Shesta rubbed his eyes and looked out the window. They had stopped upon a familiar scene: dozens of young boys milling about the transport station, receiving tickets from a handful of black-cloaked Sorcerers. "Looks like we're just picking up more kids," he said.

"Maybe that's why this car was left practically empty."

But as the trainees received their assignments and took their seats, it was apparent that this was not the case: the car remained all but empty. There were three new additions: two tall, dark haired boys and one young blonde. The young one quickly introduced himself to everyone as Nividelle Talliskein, the youngest son of a noble family to the south. The other two weren't quite as enthusiastic. "Don't mind them," Nividelle said bouncily. "They're just as excited as I am--isn't it great? We're joining the army!"

Shesta and Gatti exchanged a dubious look, as if to question the boy's credibility. Soon after the transports continued on, and several more stops were made. Eventually there were seventeen boys ranging from ages twelve to seventeen on board. Some were quiet and shy, like Shesta, while others boasted loudly of how they'd succeeded in their training. Shesta watched them silently, not passing judgments, merely curious.

At the second to last stop, there were only a handful of boys waiting to be assigned a transport. Three joined the blue car: a tall, wavy-haired blonde with a lopsided grin molded into his features; a brown-haired boy with restless, eager eyes; and a thin, pale boy with silver-white hair and gleaming red irises---an albino. His head was lifted high in a look of superiority, even though he didn't look any older than Shesta. His eyes were sharp but amused, as if viewing his subordinates. Everyone's attention was fixated on him. There was something different about this boy; he moved with the unfaltering gait of a full-grown man despite his fair appearance, and though his face was full of arrogance not one of the boys rose their voices to question. Shesta had at least expected the elder Muro brother to comment.

The albino moved down the isle of seats surrounded by curious murmurs and found a place just in front of Shesta and Gatti. The transport began once more, picking up speed.

Shesta glanced over the group of boys. "Something's going on," he murmured. "There's exactly 20 of us here, but there's a lot more in the other car. The Sorcerers separated us on purpose."

Are you thinking we're going to different places?" Gatti asked. "Is there something special about us?"

"If there is, it wasn't on our names or because of the tests." He remembered how the Sorcerer had touched him, how cold the skin had been against his hand. "The Sorcerers decided."

"I decided."

Both boys looked up, and were met with the crimson gaze of the newest addition to the transport. He was kneeling on his chair with his arms crossed on its back, smiling smugly. _He's so pale_ , Shesta thought absently. _Like a ghost._ "What was that?"

"I said I was the one who decided," he replied, looking very much like one of the captains from Shesta's squad. "You're here because of me." Without explaining further he turned and sat back down.

The two blondes exchanged glances, puzzled. Gatti leaned over the seat. "Who are you?" he asked.

"Dilandau Albatou. Remember that."

Gatti made a sour face and sat back down. He rolled his eyes. But Shesta had a sudden impulse; he stood so that he could see the boy and declared. "I'm Shesta Allushe."

"Allushe?" Dilandau snorted and glared at him. "Isn't that a corrupted warrior's family name?"

Shesta was taken back, and couldn't reply. The boy went on. "I heard the Allushe's were extinct. Too bad a couple fools ruined a good line."

"Hey," Gatti began to protest, but Shesta had already sat down, frowning only slightly. Gatti glared at him in exasperation. "Aren't you going to say something?"

 _Say something? But…I don't know if he's right or not._ Shesta shook his head slowly. "No. It's not worth it."

Gatti made another face and leaned back in his chair. "Are you always this passive?" he asked dryly.

"I've…never been insulted before," Shesta said. "The captains tell me when I do something wrong, but they're teachers—it's their job. No ones made fun of me before." His brow furrowed. "Should I be mad?"

Gatti stared at him as if he had transformed suddenly into something odd, like a small rodent. After a moment, though, he sighed in a kind of amused annoyance. "No, I guess you're right—it's not worth it. It's good to see someone as level-headed as you, Shesta." He shifted in his seat. "I'm getting some sleep."

"Good idea." Shesta leaned his head against the window, gazing out at the miles of uninterrupted badlands that surrounded them. "Guess we'll figure everything out once we get there."

***

Several hours later—Shesta wasn't quite sure how long he'd slept—the transport grinded to a final stop. By then everyone aboard had realized that something was going on. The several Sorcerers that had accompanied them exited first, closely followed by the 20 sleepy, but still very eager, teens. Upon unloading it was quickly discovered that the red transport wasn't with them. Their destination appeared to be a military training ground, very similar to what they'd left, though very little of it was visible in the dark. Shesta and Gatti stayed close together, glancing about wonderingly as the boys gathered.

"This shall be your new home until further notice," a voice rose out of the shifting crowd. It belonged to the silver-haired Sorcerer, Nolld. Everyone quickly silenced. "As you may have suspected, you have been selected for a special training unit: a Guymelef unit." An excited murmur spread through the crowd. "Your superiors shall greet you in the morning. As with any elite unit, you are expected to serve them with the utmost of your abilities and respect. If at any time you prove yourself unworthy of this honor, you shall be ejected from the ranks, and sent back to join General Adelphos. Am I understood?"

"Yes, sir," came the clipped reply.

Nolld smiled in approval. "Good. Follow me to the barracks."

The old man led them into the compound, past several guarded doorways, into a long hall lined with bunk beds. He explained that in the morning someone would arrive to give them a tour of the facility, and to explain the rules of conduct and procedure. For now, all they needed to know was where to sleep. This suited them fine, as the long journey had left them all drained and seeking ample room for their cramped muscles. Many didn't bother to change clothes. Shesta was among these, and he soon found slumber despite the stiff mattress and thin sheets.


	3. Chapter 3

As promised, in the morning they were roused by a casually dressed man with a thick mustache. He introduced himself as Colonel Gorrest, the man in charge of their base. They were shown to fresh clothing and a prepared breakfast. He explained that these luxuries were to be short-lived. "You will learn to wash and mend your own clothing, your own armor," he said precisely, though his tone was not harsh. "You will collect and prepare you own food. You are responsible for your own health and hygiene. There is staff available should any serious problems arise. Keep in mind, however, that your decisions and abilities are constantly being monitored. You are to be self-dependant, but we also want you to learn to help your peers."

Here he paused, and fixed them all with a strict gaze. "You are not in competition with each other. If one of you is expelled, you will not be replaced. Remember that it is in your best interests to take care of each other: one less man now means one less man on the battlefield. You will learn to trust and support your comrades, or you will all fail. This isn't a junior training camp—we're not here to play."

After the complete tour, they were allowed to go off on their own, as training would not begin until early the next day. Shesta and Gatti explored the base together, checking to see how much food was stored, and where more could be acquired. There were woods facing the base's western side, and fields on the north for growing vegetables. "These look like they'll be ready for harvesting soon," Shesta commented, bending over a row of tomato plants. "But I've never farmed before—I don't know what the best time is."

"Neither do I," Gatti admitted. "But it looks like we'll have to put up something to keep the animals away. A lot of these plants have been eaten down."

"I wonder what kind of game there is around here…?" Shesta brushed himself off and looked toward the woods. "I've never hunted, either."

"I have. And I do know a bit about preparing animal meat."

They wandered back to the barracks and joined several of the older boys, who were discussing the possibility of a chores chart. "We can split up into groups, which rotate once a week or so," suggested Maddick Belano, a dark-haired boy with glasses. "Some to collect food, some to cook it, some to clean after meals…."

"There's twenty of us, so we can make four groups of five people," said Vicha Delekku, one of Shesta's old squad-mates. "Weekly rotation sounds like a good idea."

Shesta thought of something, but hesitated, wondering if he had any right to speak among these older boys. Gatti caught his eye, and seemed to understand. "We should figure out who can do what," he suggested in his friend's stead. "That way there's not an entire group of people who can't cook."

Lusha Luvere, the blonde who'd joined their transport from the same squad as Dilandau, laughed openly. "Good idea, kid. That would be a find mess."

"We should also take age into consideration," Vicha murmured. "Some of us are very young." He noticed Shesta and added, "No offense."

"That's fine." Shesta sighed in relief, glad that his idea had been expressed and acknowledged. He shot Gatti a thankful smile, and received a faint nod as recognition.

That night a meeting was held to determine everyone's strengths and weaknesses, and to split up groups for the chore chart. Maddik and Vicha led most of the discussion, while a foreign-looking boy Gatti's age kept meticulous notes. Shesta noticed that Dilandau was looking especially interested in the goings on, though he did not attempt to take charge. He also saw that the albino was dressed quite differently than the rest of them: long sleeves, a high collar, and gloves despite the heat. _He must have some story behind him. But what? How did someone so fragile-looking make it this far?_

The groups were set: Shesta was with Gatti, Dallet, the elder Muro brother Aldit, and a young noble named Millitio Oak. Their first duty would be to clean the barracks and kitchens after meals, a task which none were looking forward to. However, they accepted with minimal complaining. Shesta was glad not to have been assigned to the first hunting party, as they had yet to determine what animals inhabited the forest.

Lessons began on schedule. Early every morning the elder boys would move down the barracks, rousing each other from bed. They would change and report to the different training rooms, beginning what was now a routine set of exercises and drills. They were trained in hand to hand combat as well as swordsmanship, archery, and guymelef control--however, there were no real melefs to pilot, only practice contraptions. Everyone took to their chores well, to the relief of the elders. The hunting team that returned reported seeing traces of only small bush animals in addition to the deer they'd caught—the venison was delicious, even with mere amateurs cooking. Soon, even Shesta was looking forward to his first hunting experience.

Three weeks passed. Shesta lay awake in bed one night, his eyes lazily tracing the pattern of bedsprings above him. He'd grown accustomed to this life. The independence which at first had seemed daunting was now enjoyable. Even the training failed to exhaust him; though he was being worked much harder than before, he was seeing the results of that work more easily. He was even keeping up with the older boys in terms of technique, if not in strength.

That night he noticed that Gatti was still awake, sitting up in bed as he stared at what looked like a small piece of paper. Shesta watched him. Though they had grown into fast friends over the time spent together, there was still much they didn't know about each other. Gatti didn't seem as excited about their elite standing as the others. And now, he almost looked lonely.

Shesta sat up. "Gatti? Are you okay?"

Gatti flinched and glanced up sharply. He sighed. "Oh, Shesta. I didn't know you were still up."

"Are you all right?"

"Huh? Sure." He waved the paper absently—it looked like some sort of photograph. "Come have a look."

Shesta seated himself on the edge of the bed and peered at the photo: it was a black and white picture of a young, dark-haired girl with soft, charming features. He smiled. "She's pretty. Someone you know?"

"Sort of. Remember when we went into town to get tools?" Gatti glanced away in embarrassment. "I…stole it."

"Stole it? Why?"

He shrugged. "Dunno. Just…I saw her father take it, and…." He trailed off, frowning.

Shesta regarded the boy with a puzzle expression. "Do you like her?"

Gatti's cheeks flushed red, and he sputtered on a response. They were interrupted by someone chuckling on the next bed over: Miguel Lavariel. "So Gatti's got a taste for older girls?" he laughed.

"Cut it out," Gatti retorted. "It's not like that."

"Oh really? Looks like it."

"There's nothing wrong with it." This new voice belonged to the boy on the bunk above Miguel: Viole Rainen. He was a soft-featured boy with waves of violet hair, who looked more like a young girl. He was smiling amusedly.

"Stay outta this, Viole," Miguel said with a grin. "You shouldn't be defending him--you don't like girls anyway."

Viole "hmphed" indignantly. "So?"

Gatti and Shesta laughed, and a moment later the other two joined as well. Several other boys glanced over, made curious by the sound. Once they'd settled down, Gatti changed the subject. "You two are in Dilandau's group, aren't you? What's he like?"

"Dilandau?" Viole repeated. "Why do you ask?"

Before he could respond, Miguel interrupted. "Don't mind Viole. He's the only one who hasn't noticed how weird Dilandau is."

The accused boy "hmphed" again. "Everyone's a little weird. He's no different."

"Does he ever take those gloves off?" Shesta asked curiously.

Miguel frowned. "So, you noticed that, too? He only takes them off when we prepare the food, and when he does, he looks nervous."

"Like he doesn't want anyone touching him," Shesta murmured thoughtfully. "He's always covered like that."

"You don't think he's got some disease…?" asked Gatti warily.

"I don't think so," was Miguel's reply. "He never hesitates in training. He can't be sick."

Shesta pursed his lips as he tried to puzzle the mystery out. "Maybe…he's paranoid?"

"Maybe he's cold," Viole added from above. "You guys. You automatically assume it's something incriminating. Why don't you just ask him?" And with that he rolled onto his side and pulled the blankets over him.

Miguel made a face up at his bunkmate. "Ask him?" he muttered. "Who's he kidding? Dilandau practically bites anyone who questions him." He turned back to the two blondes. "One thing's for sure--he's a natural soldier. We came form the same squad, so I know how good he is. I don't think even that big guy, Vicha, could beat him in an all out fight."

"He's that strong?" Shesta asked in wonder.

"Naw—he cheats. Fights dirty as a devil." He stretched out on the bed, indicating that he was ready to sleep. "But then, it doesn't surprise me."

Shesta frowned; he'd hoped to talk a bit more, but Miguel already looked half asleep. His questions would have to be answered later. "Well, I guess we should sleep, too," he said, moving back to his bunk.

Gatti nodded as he shoved the photograph under his pillow. "Remember we've got food-preparing duty tomorrow."

"Of course." He slid beneath the covers. "Goodnight."

"Yeah, g'night."

Shesta sighed, turning his gaze again to the bunk above him. _"I decided." I wonder…was Dilandau right? Is he more important than we realize? What is he anyway?_ These questions followed him into sleep.

***

Early the next morning Shesta's group was excused from training to attend to the gardens. They had no complains; weeding, after all, was much easier than sparring with the colonel. They had just finished when Viole came running from the direction of the forest. "Good, you're here," he panted. "Wee need some help carrying the meat back. Follow me." Without waiting for a response he started back the way he'd come.

The group exchanged baffled looks. Aldit, the eldest and leader, scowled. "Who the hell do they think they are? We've got work to do, too."

"Yeah, but we all have to eat," said Dallet. "If you and Millitio finish up here, Shesta, Gatti and I can go help."

Aldit shot him an annoyed look, and snorted. "Sure, whatever. But you'll get more work tomorrow, okay?"

Gatti caught Shesta's eye and made a face. "Sure thing, Aldit," he muttered. Then he and the other two boys headed off after Viole.

"Hurry up," Viole urged from the line of trees. He led them down the crude path, humming to himself all along. "We got a baby dorris," he explained finally. "It's too big to carry—we'll have to cut him up and carry the chunks back."

"A dorris?" Dallet echoed incredulously. A full-grown dorris was almost twenty feet high and weighed around five tons. Even the younglings were difficult to kill. Though the oxen-beasts were rather slow, few hunters could get close for fear of being trampled by its hooves.

Viole nodded vigorously. "Isn't it something? Dilandau got right up under it and slit its throat. After that, it was easy."

Pretty soon the stench of blood thickened in their nostrils. Shesta covered his face, as it was somewhat nauseating. He was amazed by how far the smell traveled—they had to walk for five more minutes before coming across its source. The dorris was, as Viole had said, still barely an adolescent, laid out in the middle of a small clearing. Still, the heap made by its carcass was taller than Shesta. All around the grass was trampled and stained crimson; the amount of blood was sickening.

"There you are!" called Miguel. He was standing on top of the corpse, covered in its blood but grinning foolishly. "What do you think? Not bad, huh?"

Dallet ran up to him, and the pair began to chat excitedly. Gatti joined them a moment later, trying not to look at the huge red stain. The other members of the group were already setting upon the meat: the eldest of their group, Befis Nullo, and a young, scrawny kid with curly hair.

Shesta hung back. He'd seen blood before--just never this much. He diverted his gaze and tried to think of something else. That was when he spotted Dilandau, leaning against the trunk of a large oak tree. The boy had been soiled even more completely than Miguel, almost no inch spared. He was using a broad leaf to clean his face of it, which may have only spread it further.

Shesta gulped, staring. Dilandau appeared perfectly calm, even pleased, as if unaffected by the seriousness of the task he'd completed. To kill a dorris of any size was considered an accomplishment, and they would be praised when they returned.

_What is he anyway? He's no older than me—how can he do these things?_

Gatti, Miguel, and the others swarmed over the kill, carving into its thick hide. Again Shesta gulped. He knew he should be helping them, but his hands were shaking. The blood smell was overpowering.

"Stay here," Dilandau said abruptly. "You can help carry when they're done, but don't go yet." Though his voice was flat and unchanged from his usual tone, there was something else hidden within: he knew that Shesta was uncomfortable, and he didn't scorn him.

_Dilandau…_. Shesta licked his lips, watching the boy carefully. He wanted to question him about the dorris, but then he remembered the last time he'd spoken to Dilandau. _He won't want to talk to me. I'm nothing compared to him, to what he's done._ Even so he sat down with a thud. _But I've been here for three weeks and still Gatti's my only real friend. Dilandau doesn’t look like he has any. Maybe…_. "So, is this, um, the first dorris you've killed?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

Dilandau stared at him, as if offended at having been spoken to. But then Shesta looked more closely into that expression, and saw that the boy was searching. He was wondering about something. He turned his gaze back to the dorris. "Yes."

"Was…um…was it hard?"

"Not until after."

Shesta frowned, not understanding what he meant by that. He debated with himself as to whether or not he should question further. Before he knew it he was asking, "Were you scared?"

Dilandau didn't respond right away. He was still staring at the carcass, his gleaming red eyes covered by a strange glaze. "I've…never killed anything before," he whispered, and a strange smile twisted his lips. Despite the oddity of that expression, Shesta could see that it was trembling. The boy was frightened. "It feels…strange. All this blood…."

Shesta gulped and didn't know what to say. But he held onto his courage, if only to keep his mind from the steaming corpse not twenty feet away. "We'll clean it off once we get back," he offered. "I'll…find you some fresh clothes."

"…All right. Thanks."

He smiled, feeling a bit better. Dilandau's face had grown strong again—somehow, he'd helped. The thought that he'd done some good for his peer gave him pride. He was searching for something more to say when Dilandau's head jerked up suddenly. Shesta followed his gaze to the dorris.

The curly-haired boy had leapt away from the kill suddenly, and was babbling in a language no one understood. Viole took him by the arms, trying to calm him, but he kept ranting, pointing emphatically at the forest.

Dilandau climbed to his feet and moved onto the scene with all the superiority they remembered. Shesta followed uncertainly. "What's going on?" the former demanded. By now everyone had stopped working, and was watching the frantic boy in confusion.

"Something's wrong with Guimel," said Viole, looking distraught. "I don't understand him."

"Ki-wven!" the boy exclaimed, trying to break out of Viole's grasp. "Ki-wven mitaly gott. Mitaly trush, helli ki-wven trush! Ki-wven mitaly gott!"

Shesta's body went cold at those words. There were servants in his old master's home that had spoken in the Northern language, and some of the words stood out to him as being familiar. _No, that can't be it. I must be wrong._

"Guimel, calm down," Viole tried to comfort the youth. "Speak sense."

Dilandau glanced in the direction of Guimel's crazed pointing and paused, his eyes narrowing. "Something's out there," he murmured, turning toward the line of trees.

_No. No it can't be what it sounds like._ Desperate to prove himself wrong Shesta grabbed Guimel to get his attention. "Ki-wven?" he repeated. "You're sure it's Ki-wven?"

Everyone stopped to stare at him in shock. "You understand him?" Dilandau said sharply.

Shesta lifted his hand to plead for silence. Guimel was watching him, his eyes wide, trembling. "Ki-wven," he stated, making sure that his voice was crisp so that no mistake would be made. "Mitaly gott. Allic?" _In the forest. Now?_

Guimel nodded vigorously, seeming to get a hold of himself with Shesta's help. "Ki-wven mitaly gott allic."

"Well?" Miguel asked from the dorris.

"Can you understand or not?" added Gatti.

Shesta gulped, turning to face the others. "It's…a dragon," he said tremulously. "A land dragon is coming."

The boys stopped to stare at each other. Dilandau was already unsheathing his sword, gazing at the edge of the clearing where already a sour stench was beginning to emanate from. "It's already here."


	4. Chapter 4

The group fell into confusion. Everyone scampered away from the dorris as quickly as possible—except for Miguel, who planted his feet and declared, "I'm not giving up this kill! We earned this meat, and any damn dragon is going to have to take it from me!"

Gatti immediately ran up beside Shesta. "You're sure?" he asked in a harsh whisper. "A land dragon?"

"Of course," Dilandau snapped at them before Shesta could reply. He unstrapped the shield from his back—he alone had one—and readied it on his arm. "Can't you smell it? Everyone, calm down and _shut up_." The others immediately silenced per his orders, casting uncertain glances at each other and the forest. "Befis, Viole, Miguel, give the others your knives. You'll have to use your swords."

They complied, handing over the weapons. Shesta could almost feel his skin growing pale. _A knife against a dragon? Is he mad?_ Still mounted on the oxen corpse, Miguel threaded an arrow in his bow and aimed it at the direction of Dilandau's unfaltering gaze. Guimel calmed long enough to draw his sword, even as it quaked in his grip.

"Befis, you're the fastest one here," Dilandau said quietly, standing very still. "Run back to the compound as quickly as you can. Tell them we're going to need a cart to pull the meat back."

"You can't be serious," Gatti sputtered incredulously. "You're going to fight it?"

A low growl filled the clearing, and Gatti clamped his mouth shut, gripping his dagger. "I am going to fight it," Dilandau said, sounding far too calm for the situation they were in. "Spread out and stay away from its head, all right? Land dragons breathe fire. Befis, get going."

The older boy glanced about the clearing, looking torn. At last he handed his sword to Miguel, who stabbed it into the dorris' hide for safekeeping. "Good luck," he murmured, and sprinted into the forest, in the opposite direction of the dragon smell.

"This—this is insane," Gatti muttered. "If we run, we might be able to get out of here." He looked to his friend for confirmation, but Shesta was already moving to a flanking position beside Dilandau. "Shesta…?"

"I don't think we could outrun it now," he replied, gulping. "Don't worry, Gatti. It'll be all right."

The growl came again, but louder this time, sweeping over the seven boys like a choking fog. They could hear its footsteps coming closer. Shesta adjusted his grip on his knife, knowing it was a pathetic defense but clinging to it as his only weapon. He glanced at Dilandau out of the corner of his eye. Dilandau was watching the forest, looking as calm and impressive as ever. _If he can do it—if he can thinks he can do it—_

The dragon stepped out into the clearing, and all around a brief sigh was shared. It was a land dragon, but a baby, no more than six and a half feet tall, waddling uncertainly on its stubby legs. It's wide bulk and broad, flat head made it appear almost comical. Dilandau gave a derisive snort of disappointment. "Just a kid."

Above them, Miguel laughed shakily. "That's it? We were worried about _that_ little thing?" He shouldered his bow, instead opting for the sword Befis had left him. He leapt down from the dorris and advanced on the creature alone. "This isn't even an appetizer."

"Miguel," Dilandau barked, though he didn't make any move to stop the boy. "Don't make any mistakes."

"Don't worry about that. I won't." He held his weapon out before him, staring down the beast. The dragon regarded him with childlike curiosity. "Everyone, spread out," he ordered the others. "Just to make sure he doesn't get away."

Slowly the others complied, taking up positions around the creature. Only then did it start to look anxious, its wide, orange-tinted eyes rotating in their sockets as it took notice of each boy. It pawed the ground and snorted.

Shesta gulped, dimly aware that the knife was fluttering in his grip. He tried to tighten his fingers but they wouldn’t listen. On his right, Miguel had begun to jeer at the dragon, making half-hearted lunges at its face. The beast hissed a warning. _It doesn't sound angry,_ he thought, watching the dragon's movements and shifting feet. _Now it's scared._ The other soldiers were closing in, waiting for an opening to use. Shesta glanced at Dilandau, who had remained in his original position despite Miguel's orders. _And he looks uneasy. I didn't think anything could—_

The dragon roared suddenly, causing everyone in the clearing to jump. It spun on its short legs—only then did Shesta realize what those small movements of the feet had been preparing for—and the tail whipped about after it. No one had expected the action. The tail with its thick bone tip smashed into Miguel's leg with a sickening crunch, knocking him into the air. Shesta had only a fleeting image of the boy, his body tossed like so much wheat, until pain left him blinded and breathless. He couldn’t tell what part of him had been hit. All he knew was that he was flying, weightless, and there was blood in his throat. His mind numbed—he couldn’t think or feel enough to know if he was still in the air or not.

"Shesta!" Someone was calling his name; someone was touching his face. He tried to open his eyes, but the light he allowed in was painful and he closed them tightly once more. "Shesta, can you hear me?" the voice was saying. "Shesta? Shesta!"

Shesta coughed weakly, expelling blood from his mouth. Slowly he regained his senses, though he wished he hadn't; his head was throbbing, and the pain of a knife was thrust through his chest. It was hard to breathe. He tried to speak, and only managed a low, agonized moan.

Somewhere nearby, the dragon roared in fury. It was accompanied by human voices, rising and falling, like the cackling of so many enraged monkeys. Shesta forced his eyes open, wincing at the sun that attacked his disoriented senses. The outline of a face appeared over his head. "Gatti…?"

"Don’t try to move," the elder boy instructed. His head was turned away, apparently watching the fight going on not far away. "It's almost dead."

"What?" He tried to sit up and nearly fainted at the pain flaring along his side. He dropped back to the earth, gasping. _It's…it's my rib. I've broken a rib. Or…maybe more._ With trembling fingers he felt along his right side, where the tail had struck. He didn't feel any blood on his garments, but he tasted it.

The dragon continued to bellow, but its breath was failing. The staggered pounding of its footfalls slowed, until the ground shook at its collapse. Shesta pressed his eyes shut and listened. He could hear the beast heaving its final breaths, made thick and damp through blood, hissing at its killers. The tail was flopping about, unnaturally mobile for a dying creature. As Shesta waited, his breath shallow and thin, a potent stench filled the silent clearing. It spread like a despairing sigh, rustling the tips of each blade of grass as it passed. He shuddered as it spread over him, and dissipated into the forest.

"Damnit," someone swore. "Holy fucking shit. _Shit_."

"Hey, cut it out. You're all right, aren't you?"

"Yeah….guess so."

"Then don't just stand there—go check on Guimel."

This command came from Dilandau, Shesta was able to distinguish. He opened his eyes and found Gatti's arm. "Help me up," he croaked.

"Are you sure?" Gatti asked with concern. "Looks like you've broken something."

"I'll…be fine. Just help me up." With Gatti's assistance Shesta was able to sit up, though even that simple movement made him light-headed and nauseous. He felt as if a section of the dragon's tail had been left imbedded in him, and was pressing against his insides, tainting them with poison. He was grateful for Gatti's hand on his back, supporting him.

The dragon's carcass was stretched out across the forest floor, steaming and emitting a foul-smelling odor. Dozens of lacerations covered the tender underbelly and throat--it was impossible to tell which wound had killed the beast. Even in death, however, its fire-orange eyes still gleamed, like lit marbles. Shesta stared at them, somewhat haunted.

"Ow, damnit! Get the hell off me!" Shesta turned toward the voice, if slowly. It was Miguel, several dozen yards away, surrounded by Dilandau and Viole. They were looking critically over his right leg—the sight of it made Shesta cringe. Miguel's leg was turned at an odd angle, and blood had all but completely soaked through his trouser leg. Despite the boy's stern face he was pale and shaking, and tears of pain were squeezing through his tightly closed lids. Dilandau was shredding his shirt to make bandages for the wound, while Viole did his best to hold Miguel still. As Shesta watched Dilandau work, he caught sight of a sliver of ivory bone piercing the skin, and quickly withdrew his attention.

"He's okay!" Dallet called suddenly. He moved out from around the dragon carcass, carrying Guimel on his back. There were streaks of crimson in the blonde's pale hair. "He got skimmed, but hit his head pretty hard. Out cold. But he's okay." He glanced at Miguel's leg, turned slightly green, and devoted himself from then on to cleaning Guimel's shallow wound with his sleeve. "How's Shesta?" he asked, a bit wary of the answer.

"Looks like a broken rib," Gatti answered for the boy, saving him the trouble of speaking. He wasn't sure he had the strength for it. "But you saw him get hit—we have to get him and Miguel to a doctor."

Dilandau didn't look up as he worked. "Befis will be back with the cart. We can put them on that, and haul back the meat ourselves." He tightened the fabric strips around Miguel's leg, causing the teen to cry out sharply in pain. Everyone cringed at the sound.

Then, as if in response, the deep bellow of a dragon swept over the clearing. The boys froze, voices trapped in dry throats. Even Dilandau had halted his movements and turned straining eyes to the line of trees. Beside him, Miguel had broken out in a cold sweat, from fear or his injuries remained unclear. Shesta didn't dare breathe, watching the expressions playing across the faces of his companions. None of them would follow the direction of the beast's call, too fixated to risk what they might find there.

Dilandau's eyes widened slowly. "It's the mother," he whispered.

Everyone turned their attention to him, to keep from glancing at the forest. Only Viole among them found the voice to speak. "How do you know?"

"That was different than the call before. She's not hunting." His crimson eyes flashed briefly to the infant they'd killed. "It sounds like she's calling for her baby."

Shesta shuddered, drawing his arms tightly around himself, which in turn caused him to wince. His insides were twisting so terribly that he thought he might vomit. Somehow, he managed to keep his thoughts clear. _Oh God, once it finds us_....

Dilandau was still staring at the forest, his gaze sharp and attentive, as if he could see the creature. Or maybe even stalking it....

"Dilandau." Viole captured his attention away from the line of trees. "We have to get out of here. If it is a female, none of us will be able to defend against something like that." He cast significant glances at Miguel, Shesta, and Guimel. "We have to leave."

Dilandu regarded him silently for several tense moments before nodding. "You're right. But we'll go that way." He pointed west, further into the forest.

"Are you crazy?" Gatti demanded. The volume made Shesta's head spin. Then, as if fearful of being detected, Gatti dropped his voice. " _Into_ the forest? There may be more in there, and we've got three injured people here!"

"Remember the clearing we passed a while ago?" Dilandau asked Viole, ignoring Gatti's complaints. "We'll meet there. You and Gatti can help get Miguel there, and Dallet will take Guimel."

"All right. And you?"

"I'll be right behind you."

"Hey!" Gatti interrupted in a fierce whisper. "What the hell is going on? Look at his leg." He pointed emphatically at Miguel, who looked ready to faint. "You think a dragon won't smell that much blood? We can't hide from the damn thing.

Shesta gulped, wishing he could come to Gatti's aid, but he couldn't draw the breath to speak. _What is_.... He looked to Dilandau, trying to gauge the boy's intentions, and there found the answers perfectly clear. _Befis will come back, and he'll have brought help. If we go back to the base, and the dragon follows us...and if it finds the base where everyone is practicing_....

"Gatti," he just managed to squeak. "It's okay. Listen...to him."

Gatti stared at his friend as if he had gone utterly mad. "But Shesta—"

"We don't have time to argue," Dilandau snapped at them. He and Viole pulled Miguel's arms over their shoulders and, being careful of his injured leg, lifted him onto his good foot. He hissed curses at the movement. "Now come here, Gatti, and take my place."

"Why? You can take him yourself."

Nearby, Dallet had already hefted Guimel onto his back once more. "Damnit man, just listen to him," he hissed. "Let's just get out of here. That thing is—"

As if to prove his unfinished point, another roar filtered through the trees—closer this time, and far more agitated. Though he was still reluctant Gatti moved to take Dilandau's place. "Go on," Dilandau told them. "I'll be right after you."

Dallet didn't hesitate a moment longer. He started off into the woods, shifting Guimel's silent form against his back. Miguel followed with Gatti and Viole to hold him up. Dilandau watched them, his face seemingly calm, though his eyes were still intense. Shesta gulped. He didn't think he could stand on his own, but Dilandau wasn't making any move to help him.

_He's going to leave you behind._

Shesta bit his lip and remained silent, watching as Dilandau collected the weapons the others had dropped and fit as many as he could into his belt. He closed his arm-shield—each movement was deliberate, and he didn't glance in Shesta's direction even once. With a dagger in hand he approached the dragon carcass, studying the wounds driven into its chest cavity.

_You're not worth saving, anyway._

_No, that isn't true_. Shesta shook his head in an attempt to force his own thoughts away, but he couldn't help it. Dilandau was bent over the body now, carving into its pale green flesh, uncaring of the thick blood that spilled over his forearms in the process. _But...I'm not strong like the others. They all know that. Maybe_.... He closed his eyes, letting the memories wash over him. _That's right. I've never been anything more than a nuisance anyway. So why should Dilandau care about me? I'll just get in the way._

_I'm always in the way._

A warm breeze spread through the clearing, like the breath of a slumbering giant, followed by an almost chilling silence. Shesta opened his eyes curiously, and was shocked to see that the dragon corpse had vanished--not a trace of it was left, as even the blood had disappeared as well. The only proof of its existence at all was the impression of its claws in the soil, and the red stain of Miguel's injury nearby. His jaw fell slack in surprise as he glanced about, searching for it.

"Hey."

He flinched and looked up. Dilandau was standing over him, his hand outstretched. In his other hand was a circular, faintly pink jewel—like the crystals that powered the Guymelefs. It was gleaming in the dull forest light, casting strange shadows across Dilandau's face.

"Come on."

"Wha...?" Shesta tried to speak, and the attempt lost his voice to a fit of coughing. He curled his knees in tightly to his chest—the pain shot all through him, wracking his body and sending his mind into a blaze of angry flashes of light. He could taste blood on his lips and coating his throat, sickening him. _Dear God, am I going to die?_

"I'm not leaving you behind." Dilandau was crouched beside him now, and Shesta managed to open his eyes just enough to see his stern and serious face. "I'm not going to let anyone die out here. As long as you follow me and do what I say, you're going to be all right. Understand? You have to trust me."

Shesta stared at him, at a loss for words even if he'd had the power to speak them. For a moment he didn't notice the pain in his chest, so startled and relieved he was by the simple words spoken to him. He was, instead, filled with a mysterious swelling of what might have been hope. _He's not going to leave me. He won't leave me._ He uncurled his body and took Dilandau's hand, allowing the boy to pull him to his feet.

Once there, however, Shesta faltered and almost collapsed. Dilandau was quick enough to save him from that; he hooked his arm around the blonde's waist, holding him steady. He then pulled Shesta arm over his shoulders. "I know you probably can't run, but you're going to anyway," he said. "It's not far."

Shesta nodded faintly as he attempted to find his balance. Relying heavily on Dilandau's support, he took a shaky step forward. The movement nearly felled him but he held on—he wouldn't let Dilandau down now. When they had gone several halting steps Dilandau increased their pace. _I have to do this._ Shesta stifled a pained whimper and continued on, step for step, into the forest.


	5. Chapter 5

As Dilandau had promised, the clearing wasn't far from where they had killed the infant Land Dragon. Shesta managed somehow, stumbling over rocks and roots as they went, his teeth clenched tightly to keep his moaning silent. It was getting harder to breathe. When at last they reached the others he collapsed onto the soft earth. Gatti was quickly beside him, helping him to lay out and keep pressure off his ribs. Once this was accomplished the older boy turned his gaze on Dilandau, glaring as if not sure what to make of him. "I'm glad you made it," he said to his friend.

Shesta smiled weakly, though he couldn't reply. He turned this expression on Dilandau, hoping to convey his gratitude, but the albino was already circling the clearing to check on the others. _What is he going to do? Can we possibly hide from a dragon out here?_ His gaze fell on the glowing jewel in the boy's hand. _Could it be...an energist? But why did he bring it with us?_

"Well, we're here," Dallet said, who was helping the now conscious Guimel to sit up. "So now what? We're gonna attract _something_." He glanced at Miguel; the eldest of the boy was leaning against a nearby tree, groaning softly as Viole tied more shirt-bandages around his leg.

"We're not hiding," Dilandau told them, surveying their surroundings. The clearing was much smaller than the one they'd occupied previously—no more than twenty feet across—but he seemed pleased with it. "We're going to kill the dragon."

All six boys turned sharp eyes on him—even Miguel fell silent, his jaw working anxiously. _What is he talking about?_ Shesta thought desperately as his fingertips went cold. _Three of us were injured just fighting a baby. How can we kill a full-grown female dragon? It's_.... _it's impossible_.

"Is....is that why you brought us out here?" Gatti demanded, stricken. "What the hell are you thinking? What can we do against a dragon?"

Dilandau didn't face him, instead emptying out the weapons he'd stuffed in his belt. "I have a plan."

"A plan?" Dallet laughed incredulously though he was shaking. "How are the four of us gonna fight a dragon?"

"There are seven of us, last time I counted."

Shesta gulped. _Does he really expect all of us to fight?_ he thought desperately, searching the boys' face for some hint of humor or sarcasm. But he was deadly serious. _He helped me get here—I can't walk let alone fight. And Miguel is no better off._

Gatti looked ready to climb to his feet, but Shesta held him back. Viole was already speaking, calm and collected as always despite their situation. "Miguel and Shesta can't fight," he argued. "And Guimel still isn't steady. But the rest of us will do what we can."

This time Shesta wasn't successful in keeping his friend still. "What are you talking about?" Gatti stood and advanced on the pair. "None of us are fighting. We didn't follow you out here to die, Dilandau! You're insane—I'm not risking my life so that _you_ can brag about killing a dragon! It's not worth it."

"Do you really think it'll just pass us by?" Dilandau snarled back, startling his peer with the viciousness of his retort. "If it is the mother, it knows its baby is dead and that we killed it. It's going to come for us. Better to fight and kill it out here, and not endanger the rest of the group."

Dallet smiled hopefully. "Maybe...it'll pass us by? Yeah—we can hide in the bushes. Dragons can't see that well, can they? If we hide, maybe it won't see us."

"No." This timid interjection came from Guimel, sitting with his head down against a tree. "It will find." He pointed to the jewel in Dilandau's hand. "We have its heart."

Again, all eyes turned to Dilandau, and the sphere he carried. His confidence was unfaltering. "That's right," he confirmed. "As long as we have the energist, the mother will know exactly where to find us. So we have to prepare."

"Are you mad? You're going to get us all killed!" Gatti grabbed Dilandu by the collar and hauled him forward. "Who the hell do you think you are, anyway? I don't care how many dorrises you kill—that doesn't give you the right to bring us out here to die!"

"Let go of me," Dilandau growled dangerously, though he made no attempt to free himself.

"I'm older than you, after all—I'm pulling rank." He shoved the boy back. "We need to get Miguel and Guimel cleaned up as best we can, and hide somewhere."

"That isn't going to work— _you're_ the one that's going to get us killed!"

"Shut up! Why should I listen to you, anyway?"

"Because _I'm_ the one who brought you here!" Dilandau shouted, stomping his foot on the earth. His eyes were blazing. "You're all here because of _me_ —because I _chose_ you." He glared at each of the boys in turn. "Why do you think the Sorcerers chose you, huh? _You_ , a common street rat."

Gatti scowled and looked as if he were about to counter this accusation, but Dilandau went on. "The Sorcerers brought you—all of you—here because of me. This is _my_ destiny. You _have_ to do what I say, because you don't have a choice!"

Viole interposed himself between the two before they could continue further. His effort was unnecessary—just then everyone jumped once more at the sound of an enraged bellow, echoing out towards them from the clearing they'd left minutes before. Even Dilandau stopped, staring in the direction from which the animal would come. His fingers tightened around the energist, and his gaze fell upon Shesta.

Shesta was gripping his chest, and returned the gaze, mystified. He had felt his entire body grow cold with Dilandau's words; he knew they were truth. They had been gathered because of him. He suddenly remembered the Sorcerers that had first come to him, and the feeling he'd gotten when they touched him. They had seen something in him, and whatever it might be, Dilandau knew. Dilandau knew his purpose.

_He knows why I was born into this world._

"Sir Dilandau." The boys stopped to stare at these words. Shesta himself didn't know why he'd called him that, only that it felt right, somehow. Dilandau _had_ brought them here, brought them together. He didn't understand yet how, or for what purpose, but he had to learn. He'd never cared about such lofty, insignificant pieces of knowledge before in his life, but he wanted them now. He wanted to know what the Sorcerers had seen in him, and this was the only way.

Shesta climbed to his feet—slowly, as every movement caused pain that left him breathless. He lifted his head. "Sir Dilandau, what do you want me to do?"

"Shesta...." Gatti stared at him in shock, at a loss for words.

Dilandau wore a similar expression. He was watching Shesta as if not having understood the declaration, and focused his gaze to make sure. When he was sure that Shesta had meant what he said, he smiled wryly. "Do you think you can fight?"

Shesta nodded. "Not well," he conceded, "but I'll do whatever you ask."

Everyone was still staring at him, shocked and baffled, bound by silence. At last, Miguel raised his trembling voice. "That goes for me, too," he said, forcing strength in the words. "If we can beat this thing, it'll be because of you, Sir Dilandau."

Gatti stumbled, staring at his comrades in disbelief. One by one, the others were nodding their acceptance. He turned at last to Shesta, hoping to find some understanding, but the look there was nothing but infinite trust in their leader. Gatti sighed, giving in, and nodded to Dilandau. "All right. If this is the only way, let's get it over with."

They expected Dilandau to grin, or somehow celebrate in his sudden newfound respect—he only nodded once, accepting, and quickly began to map out his plans. "Everyone take a weapon—two, if you can manage. Gatti, you'll only need one." He undid the ties holding his arm-shield as the other boys retrieved swords and daggers. The heavy metal disc he handed to Gatti. "I've seen you fight," he told him. "You're the fastest of us here—you'll take the head."

Gatti stared at him, sputtering in protest, but Shesta laid a hand on his arm to silence him. "And me?" he asked quietly.

"In a minute," he answered crisply. "Dallet, you'll be on the right flank, Viole the left. It'll be your job to keep her from trying to run. Jump on her legs, if you have to, but don't let her use her feet or Shesta will be in trouble." He turned to Shesta and handed him a long dagger. "You'll be up in that tree there," he said, indicating the oak against which Miguel sat. "As soon as I give you the signal, you need to jump on her neck and hold on—don't worry about hurting her. Just hold on as best you can. As long as Dallet and Viole keep her feet still, you'll be fine."

Shesta tried not to look uneasy as he cast a glance at his peers. _It's up to them_ , he thought, gathering his courage and his trust. _Your life is in their hands._

"Guimel, you'll have the tail," Dilandau continued. A dragon's bellow caused the boys to jump, but he went on, ignoring it. The creature was getting close. "As soon as she tries to lift it, she'll expose some of her underbelly—that's your cue. If that tail gets up, say goodbye to Gatti." The boy in question gulped and shifted his feet. "And Gatti—you'll be at the head, getting her attention. Use the shield to protect Miguel if she tries to use fire. It'll be up to you to keep the teeth away from the rest of us. Don't let us down."

Dilandau paused, looking over the boys with a serious expression. Shesta licked his lips and wondered what he could have possibly been thinking. The moment was brief, however, and then Dilandau was pointing out places for them to hide. Gatti and Shesta he dragged to the tree where Miguel waited patiently for his orders. "I told you, I'll do what I can to help you beat this, Sir Dilandau," the older boy said firmly.

"I know. You're the most important job of all. Bait." He was utterly serious. "Just stay there and smell like blood. And take this." He handed him the energist, and without waiting for a reply turned back to Shesta. "I'll help you up. Are you sure you can do this?"

"Yes." Truthfully, he didn't know, but he wasn't about to let his leader down. _Not now—when he knows why I'm here._

Dilandau and Gatti together managed to boost Shesta into the lower branches of the tree; he bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut as pain flooded through his chest. But he was determined, and made no sound of complaint as he clutched his dagger and settled at an appropriate height to face the dragon. Below, the pair who'd helped him disappeared into a cluster of bushes. By then everyone else had taken positions, and the clearing fell silent.

Shesta licked his lips again; his mouth and throat were dry, his hands trembling as he gripped the branches for balance. The dragon was close enough now that he could hear its footsteps pounding through the underbrush, its voice raised in vengeful bellows. The sound was so much louder and more terrifying than that of the infant that Shesta nearly yelped from fright—he kept himself still, remembering what Dilandau had told him: the others were depending on him. He was depending on them. If any of them backed down or failed, another would suffer and die for it.

_I can't lose. I can't let anyone die for me. Especially not Sir Dilandau._

The dragon slowed as she entered the clearing as if cautious, Her long tongue snaking out before Her, clawed feet pawing the earth. Shesta held his breath at the sight of Her: the female dragon was larger than he'd imagined, over twenty feet long and built massively of a thick muscles and scales. Her hide gleamed like obsidian in the half forest light, and Her eyes shown bright sunfire. She stalked into the clearing like a wary queen—though clearly She had spotted Miguel where he sat, clutching her child's heart, She was careful not to approach too quickly. She lumbered forward on Her short legs, scanning the trees all along.

 _Dallet was right,_ Shesta thought with a bit of relief, noting the movement of Her eyes. _Dragon's can't see that well. She doesn't know we're here._ He gulped and pressed his dagger against his chest, preparing.

The dragon continued Her advance, head bobbing slightly. She was so large that only a few steps took Her directly in front of the hidden boys below. Miguel was stiff beneath the pressure of Her eyes—either carefully trained or paralyzed from fear, Shesta couldn't tell. He waited, praying to every god and deity he could think of for mercy. Surely, they would win this....

The dragon bent down Her majestic head; it was then that Dilandau leapt out of hiding, dashing forward faster than the dragon had time to react to, disappearing under her belly. _Oh Gods, this is it—_ Shesta leapt from tree, and—praise his luck—landed awkwardly on the dragon's twisting neck. This time he couldn't help a strangled cry of pain from escaping his throat as his ribs jarred. He was able to wrap his arms firmly about the dragon's neck, however, to keep from falling off. She cried and bucked beneath him, tossing Her head in a crazed attempt to dislodge the sudden hindrance. Shesta clutched the hide desperately and would not be deterred.

Somewhere nearby, he could hear the voices of his comrades—mostly curses, amid the clash of steel and scales. He saw only flashes of the battle: Gatti bearing the arm shield, weaving out of the dragon's reach; the top of Viole's violet hair to his right; Miguel, pressed tightly to his tree, watching it all with gaping, wide eyes. He paid them only the slightest attention, too caught up in the thrashing of the beast beneath him, the stabbing agony in his chest. Blood was welling in his throat, but its coppery taste only heightened his tenacity.

I can't lose. I can't any of them down.

The dragon bellowed in fury, stomping and writhing, unable to chose a target among Her many aggressors. Her movements were becoming labored. By then Shesta had closed his eyes tightly, made faint by pain and injury, barely able to breathe. Still he held on, ignoring the thundering in his ears and throat, until he thought his every limb would shatter from the stress.

At last it proved too much for him. The dragon's head whipped about sharply—Shesta lost his grip, and could not even cry out as he was tossed violently to the forest floor. His body seemed to splinter against the earth for all the pain he felt. Somehow, he managed to hold onto his consciousness, gazing about in fear for his comrades.

The dragon was dying. Her throat, belly, and tail had all been sliced through, and waves of dark teal blood rippled across the matted grass. One by one the young boys retreated, each of them stained. Only Dilandau was unaccounted for, and as the beast tottered, Shesta was struck by a sudden fear; he would be crushed by the weight of the animal. A moment later his apprehension was relieved, as Her body was already beginning to burn and evaporate. The scales, the smooth flesh, the thick bones—all of it melted away into dust. Even the blood was lifted from the young slayers, leaving them spotless, though perhaps not unscarred. All that remained in Her place was the breathless, heaving form of a young albino, clasping the glowing energist in a strong palm.

Shesta flopped back against the earth, heaving a sigh of relief that was almost a laugh. His body was aching, burning, but it didn't matter anymore. He hadn't let them down—they had won. They had killed a dragon. All around him he could hear the celebrations of his comrades, wordless laughter that echoed through the trees. That enough was enough to calm Shesta's pain, and his voice lifted with them, harsh and halting but just as joyous. The last thing he remembered before slipping into a peaceful sleep was Dilandau's soft chuckle, mixing with their young voices, raising the Dragon's Heart over them all in triumph.

***

Folken drew his cloaks more tightly around him. It was cold in this region this time of year, and he had not had the oversight to dress accordingly. But he had been in the area and heard of the incident recently transpired, and he'd been asked to lend his assistance, if he could. Reluctantly he allowed himself to be lead to the small training camp out of town. He was surprised to see how well kept the camp and its interior were, given that adolescents were in charge of its maintenance. He had no idea what the purpose of this base was—he had been out of contact with his peers for sometime, disgusted by their brutal techniques and imprecise science. His own experiments had been steadily progressing, without their input or assistance, and there were rumors that he had caught the eye of the Emperor. If this were so, he had no reason to linger within their ranks.

The boys in the barracks were all chatting excitedly when Folken entered, and they snapped to attention at the sight of him. They directed him toward the medical area, where their advisors were attending to the injured boys. He followed their pointing, ignoring the many curious stares he attracted in the process. He was careful to keep his claw hidden.

The medical area was crowded and thick with the stench of dried blood. Folken soon discovered, however, that the odor was only from one of the seven seated boys—a dark haired teen surrounded by three of the caretakers, heavily sedated by the look of it. He was in the process of having a sizable injury on his leg cleaned and sowed. The other boys, scattered about the room, were being treated by two young women. Their injuries didn't look serious—bruises and cuts, nothing more.

"Hey."

Folken lifted his head, thinking that one of the girls was trying to get his attention. He was a bit surprised, then, to see the young albino staring at him with a calm, red-eyed stare. It gave him a chill. _There is something about that boy that frightens me whenever I see him_... _as if he were not meant to be in this world_.... "Yes?"

The boy pointed to a door at the end of the hall-like chamber. "The other Sorcerer beat you here. He's in the next room."

 _Other Sorcerer?_ Folken frowned, but he nodded and followed the boy's gesture. Wondering at which of his former comrades he would be greeting, he twisted the door open and stepped inside. He wasn't expecting what he found, however; he wished silently that he hadn't come here.

The room was small—an operating room, with smooth white walls and cabinets lining the wall. One bed stood in the center, occupied by the pale, heavily bandaged form of a young blond boy. At his bedside, a tall, white-bearded man in black sorcerer cloaks watched over with approval. Folken cringed slightly—he hadn't expected to meet his master here. "Sir Nolld."

Nolld lifted his head slightly, though he did not turn. "Ahh, Folken. I haven't seen you at the Sorcerer's Sanctum in some time." His voice was not reprimanding, but there was little of the warmth that had once been reserved for his pupil.

"I've been kept busy at the palace," Folken replied quietly. Though he had told himself time and time again that he was going to leave these people and their cruel, inefficient ways, Nolld had always taken good care of him. He felt a bit as if he were abandoning a caring grandfather. Hesitantly, he stepped forward. "Sir Nolld, why are you here?"

"I was drawn by a vein of destiny," the aging sorcerer replied enigmatically. He motioned for Folken to come closer. "Touch the boy again, Folken. Tell me now if you still cannot read his fate."

Folken licked his lips, wanting to reply that he did not attempt to read destiny's anymore—he'd never been capable of it. But the command in his former master's voice indicated that there would be no arguing, and so he approached the other side of young Shesta's bed. Perhaps if he failed again, Nolld would expel him, saving him the trouble of quitting himself. With a quiet sigh of resignation he placed his palm on the injured boy's forehead.

The feeling Folken received from the boy was like nothing he'd ever felt before. A feeling of pain shot up his arm, like fire, and his gaze was veiled in a sheet of crimson. He jerked his hand back reflexively and turned to Nolld. "What was that?" he demanded.

A grim smile had worked into Nolld's features. "This boy's fate, Folken. The reason he was chosen. His reason for living." His voice was cold, like stone, and his eyes impassive.

Folken stared at him in disbelief. "The reason...you mean, it's his fate to die?" He stared down at the boy, feeling a grip of fire around his heart. This boy was no older than his own brother, so far away.... "Why chose him, if he's to die before he even reaches the battlefield?"  


"His death isn't so near, but not so far, either," Nolld explained quietly. "He has the mark of the Knight on him—the soldier that will die for his master. That is why he was chosen." He met Folken's eyes severely. "That's why they were all chosen."

Folken took a stumbling step backward. His gaze jumped from Nolld, to the boy, and back again. _Chosen...to die? All these boys, picked only to die?_ He shook his head fiercely. "That's...that's monstrous. Does Emperor Dornkirk know—"

"Of course not. This is our project."

"You...." He rallied his courage, and gathered to his full height—now considerably taller than his old master. "Sir Nolld, I cannot condone this. In fact, I...I'm leaving the Sorcerer's Guild."

Nolld didn't react, didn't even seem surprised. He was still staring thoughtfully at Shesta. "Your resignation is accepted, Folken."

Folken stared at him a moment longer, feeling the sudden impulse to apologize to his long time teacher. But his disgust won through. He nodded curtly, cast one last look at the slumbering boy, and departed.

***

When Shesta awoke, his entire body ached. His head was pounding, his arms were heavy, and it was difficult to breathe without grimacing from the pain. He tried to open his eyes, and quickly abandoned the effort, as the fluorescent lighting was too much for his only-now-recovering senses. All around he could hear people muttering and shifting. "Who's there?" he called blindly, rubbing his eyes wearily.

"Shesta?" Several voice piped up, speaking his name and asking garbled questions, but one cut above the rest of them, silencing them. "Hey, quiet—he needs rest."

Shesta recognized the firm tone immediately. "Gatti?" he croaked, attempting again to give himself sight. Amidst the light flooding his sight he was able to make up several blurred figures. "Guys?"

"Hey, Shesta!" a voice that sounded like Dallet greeted enthusiastically. "You look like hell."

The other boys laughed, and Shesta smiled, as anything more would aggravate his injuries further. Gradually he was able to make out the different faces peering over him. Gatti was just beside him, the others from his groups crowded around the bed edges, some others peeking over their shoulders. Shesta's attention was drawn swiftly, however, to the youth seated on his left, silent but approving. _Sir Dilandau_....

"How do you feel?" Gatti asked, drawing his attention back.

"Hopefully better than you look," added Dallet.

"I'm...okay," Shesta said, grinning. "Really, it's not bad—just sore." He paused when he didn't see Miguel among the others. "Is Miguel all right?"

"He's fine," Gatti assured quickly. "But he can't walk at all, so they've got him in bed. He was asking about you," he added.

"Really?" He stared at the boy, somewhat mystified. _He was_... _worried about me? All of them were worried about me?_ He glanced at Dilandau. _I wonder_... _if he was worried, too_.... "Did...the dragon...?"

"You did good, Shesta," Dilandau told him. His red eyes were gleaming, his pale lips turned in a slight smile. "We got her."

Shesta sighed, allowing his body to sink back among the soft pillows. It had been a long time since he'd been granted such luxuries, and he was grateful for them. "We did it," he whispered, closing his eyes. For a moment the pain seemed to slip away. "We did it."

"You guys were amazing!"

"Even the commander was impressed."

"They're calling us dragon slayers now—pretty cool, huh?"

Shesta couldn't help but chuckle a little at that. "Dragon slayers, huh? I think we have a ways to go before we get there." He opened his eyes once more, returning his gaze to Dilandau. _I guess...he did know, after all. He knew my purpose all along._ Smiling, he asked, "Right, Sir Dilandau?"

Dilandau snorted, though he, too, was smiling. "That's right, Shesta," he said quietly. His eyes fell over the rest of them as well, drinking them in, approving. There was pride etched into his angular features, and strength. And Shesta felt, as they sat crowded there together, that he was making them his own.

"I'll take you there."


End file.
